A10
REGION
East Oregonian
Tuesday, June 29, 2021
VOICES
ANYONE CAN WRITE
Nearly 40 years in the business have taught me that readers
are bombarded and overwhelmed with facts. What we long
for, though, is meaning and a connection at a deeper and
more universal level.
And that’s why the East Oregonian will be running, from
time to time, stories from students who are in my writing
class, which I’ve been teaching for the past 10 years in
Portland.
I take great satisfaction in helping so-called nonwriters fi nd
and write stories from their lives and experiences. They walk
into my room believing they don’t have what it takes to be
a writer. I remind them if they follow their hearts, they will
discover they are storytellers.
As we all are at our core.
Some of these stories have nothing to do with Pendleton or
Umatilla County. They do, however, have everything to do
with life.
If you are interested in contacting me to tell me your story,
I’d like to hear from you.
Tom Hallman Jr., tbhbook@aol.com
Tom Hallman Jr. is a Pulitzer Prize-winning feature writer for
the Oregonian newspaper. He’s also a writing coach and has
an affi nity for Umatilla County.
A conversation with
a Hollywood bad boy
By SUZANNE GLORIA
Special to the East
Oregonian
I’d left school that after-
noon having no idea that
my life was about to change
because of a spur-of-the
moment decision I made at the
stop sign. I teach students who
sometimes have a hard time
following my rules, and they
had successfully employed
every tactic possible to get
under my skin.
As I approached the inter-
section, I heard an announce-
ment on the car radio from
a company looking for men
and women to come to a hotel
that afternoon to be extras in
a movie to be fi lmed in Port-
land. I was intrigued, but
immediately thought of all
the reasons it seemed all too
ridiculous: too old, not pretty
enough, my fellow teachers
would think I was silly. At the
stop sign I paused. Turn left
and I go home. Turn right and
I head to the hotel.
I turned right.
The line leading to the hotel
ballroom, where auditions
were being held, was full of
hopefuls, all of them younger
and quite stylish, so far from
what I knew I looked like in
sensible teaching clothes.
“Next.”
My turn.
I took a deep breath and
headed into the ballroom. A
photographer had me pose for
a head and full-body shot and
then I was told if they wanted
me, they’d send me an email.
They did so.
———
I was given a document
that told me to report early
in the morning, and also
reminded me of on-set proto-
col: Be on time and follow
directions. Most importantly,
never speak to the cast or risk
being replaced immediately.
Once at the site, I checked
in and was sent to the ward-
robe coordinator, a woman
who selected a Jackie O-in-
spired green sheath dress for
me to wear to the party. It
seemed too short and too tight.
She thought not and solved the
problem by handing me a new
pair of control-top panty hose.
She added strappy high-heeled
sandals, a thick gold choker
and large hoop earrings. Outfi t
complete, although still too
tight, I proceeded to hair and
makeup.
Perched on a high direc-
tor’s chair, my eyes were
covered in goop, my face
smeared with foundation
and brushed with powder. To
fi nish the look, my lips were
stained red and dabbed with
gloss. Next the stylist teased
my hair at least two inches,
sprayed it, smoothed it and
sprayed it again. I was ready
for the party.
I made my way to the shut-
tle area where extras gath-
ered. Standing alone, I had
an uneasy feeling of being
watched. Discreetly, I lifted
my eyes and scanned in all
directions. A man was stand-
ing about 6 feet to my left
looking at me. He was wear-
ing a leather jacket, blue jeans
and cowboy boots. His hair
reached his shoulders, his eyes
small and brown.
It was him.
———
Sean Penn, a two-time
Academy Award winner,
a Hollywood bad boy and
outspoken political powder
keg. We stared at each other
for about fi ve seconds, until
I remembered the “no eye
contact” rule and turned
away. Luckily, a white stretch
limo arrived, and the driver
motioned me to get in. Sitting
alone in the back, I wondered
if the driver had made a
mistake and thought I was a
“real” cast member.
Winding slowly through
familiar streets, I saw three
of my friends on their morn-
ing walk. They were gawking
at the limo trying to catch a
glimpse of a celeb. The black-
ened windows obscured their
view. Laughing, I imagined
their surprise or disappoint-
ment if they knew I was
the occupant. Eventually, I
was dropped off at a “Brady
Bunch” look-alike house, my
home for the day.
When we arrived at the
set, the production assis-
tants began to stage the
scene, a backyard party for
Walt McCandless, played
by William Hurt. His wife,
Billie McCandless, played
by Marcia Gay Harden, had
planned this event. The stars
sat on a table located on the
upper tier of a deck, the
extras on the lower tier. I was
positioned by the steps and
handed a helium balloon and
told that during a speech the
“wife” would look at me, roll
her eyes and shrug her shoul-
ders. I was to follow her lead
and do the same.
Over and over, we prac-
tice the scene, the romance of
being in a movie slowly dissi-
pating.
Sean Penn, who was
directing the movie, continu-
ally used the steps to walk up
and talk with the stars. I tried
to make room for him, but
we kept side-stepping each
other, right-left, left-right.
After doing this a number of
times, while standing face to
face, I impulsively broke the
“no talk” rule.
I looked him straight in his
eyes and whispered, “Do you
want to dance?” The expres-
sion on his face was worth
suffering the consequence
of “you will be replaced.” He
looked at me with the same
surprised look I had given
him earlier, and quickly went
to his director spot.
There were numerous
takes until “That’s a wrap!”
was heard two hours later.
Back at the staging area,
the extras were treated to a
scrumptious buff et. Under a
perfect blue sky, I savored the
feast and the memory of the
day.
Returning my outfit to
wardrobe, I stepped back into
my life as a teacher, my movie
career over.
But it wasn’t just yet.
I passed a table where
the cinematographer, the
producer and the director
were in deep discussion.
Sean Penn looked up and
smiled.
“Hey, thanks for being
here,” he said.
I returned his smile.
“Sure,” I replied.
With a mischievous twin-
kle in his eyes, Hollywood’s
bad boy chuckled, waved
and turned away from me to
continue his conversation.
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